Seeder's Games
by Clouds of Grey
Summary: Ever wonder how Seeder won her Games? T for non-graphic violence. If you could read The Hunger Games, you should be able to read this. No profanity
1. Chapter 1 The Reaping

**CHAPTER ONE**

**AN: My first fanfic ever! Yaay! I don't own Hunger Games. That would be silly.**

I rolled over in my small, lumpy cot. No point trying to sleep in. Reaping day. Mom will just wake me up anyways. Twig is downstairs, probably helping with breakfast. Sunny is sleeping in her cradle next to me. And Maize is working today. I get into my reaping dress, a lovely green sundress, with wooden beads around the neckline. Perfect for District Eleven.

While I eat breakfast, Mother comforts Twig. She likely had a nightmare about the Games. I can hardly blame her. Last years' were terribly chilling. She was scared out of her mind of the cave monsters. They disturbed me, too. Shaggy black fur, yellow fangs, glowing white eyes, acidic drool, the blood of the tributes caked around their claws. The victor that year had burns all over, and was screaming when they lifted him out of the arena, still holding his bloody axe. Great. Now I've ruined my appetite.

As I'm showed into the sixteen-year old pen, our escort, Dyllia Gower, bobs up to the stage, her green ringlets flying. "Good morning, District Eleven! I'm so excited for today! Let's start with the gentlemen this time," she bubbles, reaching into the bowl. "Barley Sickle!"

Barley Sickle walks slowly up to the stage, giving me plenty of time to observe him. He is tall, dark, and average. Huge muscles ripple as he saunters up to Dyllia. Scary. He`s scowling so hard, it looks like his face might rip around the edges. "Ladies next!" she trills. She reaches into the bowl, and very, very slowly, draws out the paper. "Seeder Elevator!"

No. It can't be right. Not me! Must be someone else. Some other Seeder Elevator. Someone else. Not me…

**A/N: An elevator is a grain lift that transports grain to a silo. Please read and review.**

**-Clouds of Grey**


	2. Chapter 2 The Goodbye

**Chapter Two.**

After I shook hands with Barley, Dyllia called out the traditional "May the odds be _ever _in your favour!". Barleys scowl deepens. Whoa, didn't know that was possible. I was escorted by two Peacekeepers into the Justice Building. I can't help but marvel at the luxurious interior. High, arching ceilings, huge stained-glass windows overlooking the City Square, and plush red carpet make this the nicest building I've ever been in. Well, it would be, if the circumstances had been better. If I wasn't walking to my death.

As I wait on a cushy purple armchair, my entire family files in. Little Sunny is crying. Even a one-a-half year old can tell something's wrong. Twig has tears trickling down her cheeks. Even Mother is looking like she ate something sour as she tries not to break down. Maize is the only one who isn't red eyed. He marches straight up to me, and gives me a hug. "You can do it. You can find food, and you can run. You can use a sling. And you have _brains._ Use them," he whispers in my ear. I nod. He releases me, and is brushed aside as Twig tackles me. "Please, please come home. Please!" she sobs into my shoulder. "I'll try. Really." I reply. Sunny reaches towards me and says, "See-see don't go!" she screams. "I have to, Sunny."

After saying goodbye, my family leaves, and my best friend, Cherry, hurries in, clutching something in her hands. "Take this," she pants, "Token." She opens he hands, revealing a woven bracelet. I nod solemnly, and take it. It fits perfectly. She sits by me until Peacekeepers escort her out. I have to win.

On the train, we meet our mentors, Millet and Poppy. Millet won the 31st Hunger Games by throwing homemade spears. Poppy won the 20th by starving the others out of their hiding spots, then setting traps. I get Poppy. She has short, greying hair, and dark skin. She just studies me for a long while. Finally, she begins speaking. Her voice is highish, and a bit raspy. "Okay, so I can tell you're a survivor," she states, gesturing at my skinny body and calloused hands. "And I know you can fend for yourself," she says, pointing at the faint scars on my arms. "But I don't know your personality. I don't know if you have the _will _to survive. If you can face the atrocities in the Arena with your head held high, or if you'll be an easy target for the Careers," She looks to the door now, and snaps her fingers. A blond Avox walks in, bearing a platter of sandwiches. Poppy nods her thanks, and the Avox walks out.

After lunch, I go to my room to freshen up. "Wow," is the only thing going through my head. The room is at least twice as plush as the Justice Building, and makes our three-room house look like a filthy shack. The walls are a soft, forest green, with big windows framed with deep purple curtains that fall to the floor. The carpet is beige, and so soft that is feels like I'm going to sink up to my ankles. And the bed is bigger than every bed in our house put together, and has a fluffy purple bedspread, and about ten pillows. I head to the dresser, eager to see what treasures it holds. Wow. Who would have thought that such an unassuming mahogany drawer could hold so many pairs of pants? I go to the closet, and pull out a simple, red cotton button-up shirt. The plain fabric feels soft as down against my torso. I then unfold a pair of dark jeans. The only denim we have back home is rough coveralls, bleached by the sun, and worn from use. This feels so different. Fitted until my knees, then gently flaring out to my feet. I then step into some green slippers. After brushing my hair, I step into the dining area for a strategy meeting.

**A/N: Sorry for not updating! But thank you to writer girl 25 and Drewfreeze for favouriting! So please keep reading and reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 3 The Coaching

**(A/N: SOOOOOO sorry for not updating! Personal crap, etc.)**

When I walked into the dining hall, nobody looked up. Well, nobody could, seeing as the only two there were Poppy and Millet, and they were arguing. I quietly slipped into a fancy chair, and helped myself to a slice of roast beef. Poppy glances at my beef, and sighs. "Seeder, you should eat more than that," and goes back to her argument. I can tell, now, that they're disagreeing about proper meal plans. It seems that Millet believes in "You only live once", while Poppy is of the opinion that we need a special, high protein, diet. She's winning.

After a rather quiet meal, Millet takes Barley into another room. Poppy moves into a closer chair, and begins drilling me on, what she likes to call, "Battle Plans". She stages mock interviews, and takes notes on my responses. Eventually, she has me try different angles. I'm no good at sexy, vulnerable, fierce, or charming. I'm too polite for sarcastic, and too witty for naïve. I can't tell jokes, or keep a poker face, or gush. The only feasible options are tough, determined, and intelligent. We settle on determined, as the other two will require more effort on my part. As for training, Poppy tells me to learn as much as I can in the Hunting/Gathering skills. She tells me that many of her Tributes have been arrogant in those, and then died from either not recognising plants, or _thinking_ they did, or then dying of poison, or starvation, or whatever.

Training is rather uneventful. I do as Poppy says, dutifully memorizing plant after knot after trap. Then, I strike out into Combat Skills, and learn to wield a spear. I don't make a complete fool of myself, at least. I take every opportunity to observe my fellow Tributes. The boy from One is _huge, _easily thrice my weight. And both from Two are respectably large as well. Five and Seven seem to be allying. I consider asking to join, but think better of it. The boy from Five is very shifty eyed, and looking at everyone like a starving man surrounded by walking, fighting pieces of meat. This, I suppose, is rather true. We're all just lined up like so many stalks of grain, waiting to be cut down.


End file.
